


salvation

by wvlfqveen



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Implied Athos/Milady, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, both in a sexual context and otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvlfqveen/pseuds/wvlfqveen
Summary: In the heat of the moment, Aramis admits something about himself he never planned to admit.He blames Bonnaire.





	salvation

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! i dont remember which season 3 episode it was but unless im having a really vivid hallucination aramis basically admitted he likes to be tied up so. this just. wrote itself
> 
> it slightly diverts from canon and honestly? it might be a little ooc???????? i have never written for this fandom before and im not sure how much i succeeded
> 
> P.S: louis is dead in this. i havent finished the season so idk if he actually dies in it so i dont rly consider it a spoiler per se?

As always, it was all Bonnaire's fault.

* * *

He was ashamed to admit it later, but Aramis was caught completely unaware while keeping an eye on Bonnaire as he tried to sweet-talk his way into the graces of a great French thief holed up a few hours away from Paris who was rumoured to have information on the Queen Regent's stolen necklace, a quite understated but beautiful piece of jewelry the late King had bought for her before his death. Distracted as he had been from how amazingly great a weasel Bonnaire was, he hadn't noticed the man sneaking up on him or the sack he had been holding until it was tied over his head.

Then he had been hit, and everything had gone black as things usually do.

When he woke up, he was in a dark, musty room, Bonnaire similarly tied up beside him on a chair.

"Oh good, you're awake," Bonnaire said, with obvious relief. Aramis did not share the sentiment.

"Great," he said flatly. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to know these men are tasteless and brutal," Bonnaire sniffed.

"How many?" He moved his wrists as much as he could. The ropes were tied but frayed. He could  use this to his advantage, given time. 

"Uh," was Bonnaire's intelligent response.

Aramis squinted at him through the minimal light of the room provided by the boarded up windows. The throbbing in his head, where he'd been hit, chose that moment to intensify.

"I might have...forgotten to count," Bonnaire admitted.

Aramis cursed low and long under his breath. "Fine. Let me rephrase. How outnumbered are we?"

"Severely," Bonnaire answered immediately. 

"Excellent," Aramis said. He looked around. The room was completely bare aside from their chairs and them. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. He'd been completely disarmed, too, his weapons nowhere to be found.

"Excellent," he repeated. 

Bonnaire stared at him, wide-eyed. "Please tell me your friends are on their way."

"They are," Aramis assured. He had never doubted that, even in much worse circumstances. He started the process of untying himself, tugging around the knot. "We might have to endure a few minutes of fighting, if that is alright with you, Monsieur," he added sarcastically. Bonnaire blinked at him. 

"I know you mean that ironically, but I honestly appreciate the warning," he said, just as they heard heavy, booted footsteps approaching the door.

"Please don't speak," Aramis pleaded, and schooled his face into something calmer before the men stepped in.

"Well, good evening," Bonnaire said. Aramis' leg twitched with the desire to reach out and kick him.

"Shut your mouth," the man standing by the door commanded. He had his pistol out and pointing it right at Aramis, and reached behind him, one-handed, to shut the door. The other man stepped forward. He looked to be the more intelligent of the two, and there was a sword tucked at his hip.

"Your reputation precedes you, Bonnaire," he said with a sneer. "Aiding Musketeers against fellow thieves, thinking you're better than us."

"Oh, he's not," Aramis reassured them. "He's worse, actually."

Bonnaire laughed nervously. "The Musketeer jokes. My friends,I admit-"

"We ain't your friends," the man with the pistol cut in. "We're the thieves you're trying to lead the Musketeers to."

"We have your precious Queen's necklace," the other man revealed with some satisfaction. "It will be sold to our greatest buyer within the hour and then we're going to demand ransom for him," he added with a nod towards Aramis and a nasty grin. "Before killing him anyway. We'll be rich. You are too late."

A distinct and familiar whistle reached Aramis ears just as Bonnaire started spluttering, "Well, I am sure we can-"

Aramis was unable to keep the smile from forming on his face.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?," the armed man growled.

"My  _friend,_ " Aramis said, sliding his hands free of the ropes. "I think we're just in time."

There was a yell of alarm outside, abruptly cut off, and then sounds of fighting made both of their captors swear. The man with the pistol opened the door to look outside, just in time to get barreled into by a large form Aramis knew very well.

The pistol was tossed clean over Bonnaire's head, making him squawk indignantly. Aramis retrieved it, seizing the opportunity of the other man's distraction and shooting him just as he was about to rush Porthos and rescue his partner.

Porthos straightened after landing a particularly harsh punch to the head of the man he had barreled into and grinned at Aramis. "Hello."

Aramis slapped his friend on the back with a grin of his own. "Great timing."

Porthos glanced around the room, taking in the ropes and the chairs with a playful glint in his eyes. "Allowed yourself to be tied up, did you? Remembering your recruit days?"

"I resent that," Aramis laughed. "Although ropes do bring back fun memories."

Porthos glanced at him questioningly and Aramis felt himself pale as his own words sunk in.

Bonnaire cleared his throat behind him. "Uh."

"For God's sake," a different voice said, making Aramis raise his newly acquired pistol. He lowered it when his eyes met Athos' familiar scowl. His friend shoved past him. "You are free to flirt when we're not in the middle of a mission," their Captain groused, untying Bonnaire with quick, jerky movements. "We have work to do."

"Yes, Captain," Aramis said, not meeting anyone's eyes, and jumped right into the fray.

***

One rescued necklace later (the buyer never showed; either tipped off or late), Aramis found himself laughing with his friends -and Bonnaire- over wine, recounting the looks on some of their opponents' faces. All things considering, it had been an easy fight.

Porthos had just finished a particularly detailed impersonation, making D'Artagnan snort wine all over his shirtsleeves, when Bonnaire spoke up. He had been weirdly quiet up till that point, probably out of some small survival instinct around Porthos and his temperament.

"Where is that delightful wife of yours, Monsieur D'Artagnan?"

It was hilarious, how fast the mirth disappeared from D'Artagnan's face, instantly replaced with suspicion and animosity. "Why do you ask?"

"So I know when to run," Bonnaire said simply. Porthos laughed, but it was not a kind sound.

"That is the smartest thing you haver ever said, Monsieur," Athos praised blankly. Aramis hid his smile behind his cup.

"Soon," D'Artagnan promised with a significant amount of glee. "She should be along any moment now."

Bonnaire sighed. He gulped down the last of his wine and stood up on surprisingly steady legs. "I must be going then. Paris makes me nervous and my wife and our bed calls. Monsieur Aramis has given me quite a few ideas."

Aramis blinked. "Ideas?"

Bonnaire waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, with the ropes," he explained impatiently. "Goodnight, Monsieurs." He left without paying, leaving a bewildered and slightly embarrassed Aramis behind.

There was a beat of silence around their table, and then his friends were all laughing. Yes, even Athos. Maybe they've had too much wine.

"I am glad," Aramis began loudly, over the disturbing sound of Athos expressing amusement like a normal person "I could be of some amusement for you tonight. My work here is done."

"Oh, come on Aramis," D'Artagnan said as Aramis got up, his eyes shining with laughter. "We are not laughing at  _you._ "

"Oh, yes we are," Porthos countered, grinning widely even as Aramis glared at him. He tried not to blush. Porthos really was the last person Aramis had wanted to ever reveal this particular liking of his to, mostly because of...

Aramis' affections.

God forgive him.

"Great friends, you are," Aramis huffed, glaring without much heat. Athos was still smiling a little, but the look in his eyes was knowing.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Your turn to be of amusement."

"Ooh, that better not be a threat, Monsieur," Porthos hollered.

Aramis only winked in response, dropped some coins on the table for his share of drinks and walked out, ignoring the jeers that followed his exit.

****

The next day, Porthos dropped onto the empty spot of the bench beside Aramis where he sat watching the recruit be abysmal at shooting targets. Aramis acknowledged his presence with a bump of his knee against his friend's, but did not turn his head.

Porthos was quiet for a moment, observing. "You could teach them a thing or two."

"Or several," Aramis agreed. He winced as a recruit's shoulder was wrenched back with the force of his shot. That was going to be sore tomorrow.

"Yes," Porthos said. "Like how to be caught unaware and then tied up like a pig on a spit."

Aramis grimaced and chanced a sideways glance. Porthos was grinning, pleased with himself.

"You paint such a lovely picture," he replied flatly. Porthos' grin widened.

"Flatterer."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"No."

Aramis sighed and turned to look at the recruits again. Staring at Porthos' smile was like staring into the sun; lovely and warm, but painful.

"So...," Porthos started, and Aramis knew right away this was not a conversation he wanted to have in public. Or ever.

"I will shoot you," he grumbled, the back of his neck starting to warm up. Porthos huffed a laugh through his nose.

"And then you will patch me up and hound me with reminders to clean my wound like the mother hen you are," he predicted, quite accurately. Aramis' lips twitched.

"You know me too well," he noted.

"I like to think so," Porthos said, more serious now. "Which is why I was...surprised."

Aramis tensed. Two recruits started an argument across from them. Athos, on the opposite side of the shooting range, barked something at them that quietened them immediately, but Aramis was not really listening.

"Surprised," he echoed.

"You know what I'm talking about," Porthos said. "I believe myself knowledgeable enough when it comes to you but I never-"

"It's not exactly something I share. Even with friends," Aramis interrupted tightly.

Porthos did not answer to that, the ensuing silence fraught with tension and unanswered questions.

"Just answer me this," he said after a while, voice so soft Aramis had to look at him again. There was no judgement in his gaze. "Did you not tell me because of...how I reacted when..."

He did not need to finish that sentence. Aramis knew he was referring to a night years ago, before even Aramis' time at the monastery or D'Artagnan's arrival at the Regiment, when they had all gotten appropriately drunk to celebrate a recent victory against the Red Guard -an insignificant, petty thing, really- and Aramis had been quite...forward. Porthos had backed away, wide-eyed, with surprise or disgust Aramis hadn't been sure. Certain of having destroyed their friendship, Aramis had freaked out (discreetly) and crashed in Athos' rooms. He had never told Athos what exactly had occurred, but the man probably knew anyway. 

 "Because if it is," Porthos continued, not meeting his gaze any longer, "I thought I had already apologized. I never meant to make you feel a-ashamed or like you cannot trust me with such information. My reaction then...I was taken by surprise."

"Porthos," Aramis answered quietly, his heartbeat pulsing so loudly he was certain Athos could hear it "I forgave you the moment it happened." He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed the hard muscle underneath. "It took me longer to forgive myself."

Porthos finally looked at him, frowning. "There was never anything to forgive, Aramis. It's who you are. You don't have to apologize about that. To anyone."

Aramis smiled helplessly. "You're too kind."

Porthos covered Aramis' hand with his own. "Am not," he said gruffly. "I care about you."

Aramis' fingers tightened around his shoulder. "As I do about you."

Well. Not quite the same, perhaps.

Porthos grinned, oblivious, and took Aramis' hand to hold it between them, right by his thigh on the bench. It was an intimate gesture. Aramis' stomach flipped.

"Now tell me," Porthos said, in that teasing tone of voice that Aramis loved and dreaded in almost equal measure. "Which lucky Madame or Monsieur got to use ropes?"

Aramis managed a laugh. "I was sworn to secrecy."

Porthos snorted and let go of his hand to stretch his arms behind his head for a moment before he slapped them down on his thighs. Aramis did  _not_ follow the movement with his eyes.

"Like that's stopped you before," Porthos said accusingly.

D'Artagnan jumped between them then, sitting down with absolute disregard for their comfort. Porthos grunted on impact, but moved over obligingly and did not push him off the bench.

"What are we talking about?," D'Artagnan asked. He looked energetic and blissful, so Aramis guessed he had just returned from Constance.

"We were talking about how annoying you are," Porthos said with no hesitation.

"Were we? Because I thought we were talking about how Constance must do all the work in that incredibly boring bed of theirs," Aramis quipped.

Porthos' booming laugh seemed to fill the courtyard. Even as D'Artagnan tackled him into the ground and Athos yelled at them all to quit distracting the recruits, Aramis could not stop smiling, half from the joy of being here and witnessing things like this after being years away, and half from the fact that the uncomfortable conversation was over.

***

The conversation was, in fact, not over.

However, it was not Porthos that initiated it again, but Constance.

"Madame D'Artagnan," Aramis greeted, not particularly surprised to see Constance in his room. Her right to freely roam around the Regiment was only equal to that of Treville and Athos these days. 

"Good evening, Aramis," Constance said pleasantly, from her seat by Aramis' small window. She took her eyes off the street below and gazed at Aramis evenly as he removed his cape and sword belt. "Long day?"

Aramis shrugged. "Nothing unusual," he said. There had been no special missions lately, and quite frankly, patrolling the streets was getting boring. Aramis had been a Musketeer for too long for normal Parisian crime to keep him excited. "Is there something you needed?"

Constance's expression changed. Aramis was instantly on guard.

"D'Artagnan told me about the mission with Bonnaire."

Aramis sighed, completely unsurprised. "Are you here to laugh? You've always been crueler than your husband."

Constance pursed her lips, exasperated. "I'm here to tell you that you are thick-headed and that one day I will have to knock your and Porthos' heads together or lock you in a room somewhere until you both realize what's right in front of you."

Aramis sat down on his bed across from her slowly. "I am...confused." 

Constance rolled her eyes to the heavens and muttered something that contained quite a few choice words about men. "I am talking about your affections towards Porthos, Aramis, and how he feels the same."

Aramis was vaguely aware his mouth was hanging open, but he did not seem to be able to shut it.

Constance threw her hands up in the air and got up. "Make of that what you will," Constance declared, and practically marched to his door. She opened it and turned around the look at him. "Oh, and Aramis?" She smiled, and at that moment she resembled her husband in the teasing quirk of her mouth. It was terrifying. "Do keep talking to him about ropes. He is very curious."

She shut the door behind her, leaving Aramis and his wild thought alone. He did not get much sleep that night.

 

 

Athos was next, and Aramis felt a keen sense of betrayal at his involvement. He used to be able to depend on Athos to move them past uncomfortable topics such as this one, but it seemed God was not on his side this time around.

"Not you too," Aramis groaned that night when he arrived in his room. He had been looking forward to actually getting some rest as he had been chased by an angry husband for the better part of the afternoon. He swore it had been a misunderstanding; although his wife was beautiful, he had been looking at her brother, and not her.

Athos simply raised his eyebrows. Even his  _eyelashes_ were doing their best to judge Aramis for his life choices.

Aramis sighed and sat down on his bed heavily in preparation for what was to follow, and surely enough, Athos dove right in. 

"Aramis," he began gravely "I have been your and Porthos' friend for a long time. We have lived through a lot and I know many of your secrets, but never have I seen you both be so utterly stubborn over something."

Aramis blinked, uncomprehending. "Stubborn?"

Athos' mouth twisted. "Perhaps "stubborn" is not the word I should use," he muttered, looking out Aramis' window in contemplation. When he turned to look at him again, his gaze was calm but tired, like he had not slept in a while. Milady probably haunting his once more after her latest stunt. "Do you know how many times Porthos has talked about you and those damned roped Bonnaire mentioned?"

Aramis' face heated.

"Too many," Athos continued, with a tortured look Aramis himself had caused too many times. "And he cannot even admit why he keeps talking about it. He claims it's to joke, that it is his duty to never let you forget it," Athos half-smiled here "but when I point out you are not around to hear him at that moment, he always finds something else to do or talk about."

Aramis did not know what to say to that.

Sensing this, Athos let him think it over for a moment and then continued with a sigh, like he was talking to a child. "You need to talk to him, Aramis."

Quite suddenly, Aramis was certain his heart was trying to climb up his throat. "About?," he choked out.

Athos' face softened. "About what you feel."

"You think...you think he returns my affections, like Constance?"

Athos nodded. "I have watched you two for years. Even Treville seems to think you are as inevitable as Constance and D'Artagnan's union was."

Aramis shot straight up out of his seat. "Treville knows about this?!"

Athos looked up at him with a raise of his eyebrows, unperturbed by his outburst. "I did not tell him about the ropes, although he must know already. You know there are no secrets among the Musketeers."

Aramis rubbed a hand down his face and sat down again. "I hate this Regiment. I'm going to be a Red Guard."

Athos smiled fully this time. "Blasphemy. I'm telling Constance."

Aramis shuddered but grinned. "Traitor."

Athos shrugged, unapologetic. They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.

"Has he really been talking about me?"

Athos groaned. "Yes, it's sickening actually, not that you two usually aren't."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Like you're one to talk. Sylvie this, Sylvie that. Anne haunts me, Anne wants me."

Twin red spots appeared high on Athos' cheeks. "I'm leaving," he announced, getting up. "Talk to him."

Aramis twisted and flopped onto his stomach, burying his long-suffering groan in his mattress the moment the door shut behind Athos. His friends were all awful, awful people.

***

The subject of him and Porthos did not come up again until a mission outside Paris. They had been sent to help a village ransacked by bandits who had taken the new Spanish Ambassador, a relative of the Queen Regent, hostage on his way to the palace. Porthos and Aramis had gotten split up, and it was Aramis' turn to rush in and rescue him.

He and D'Artagnan dealt with the bandit guards quickly, and kicked the door of the cottage down. Inside the small room were the Ambassador, looking pale and a little roughed up but unharmed, and Porthos. There was a bruise on his jaw, which was clenched. The chair and the ropes that bound him hardly seemed to be able to contain his rage. His expression cleared when he saw his friends.

D'Artagnan freed the Ambassador and helped him out of the cottage, Aramis watching before he allowed himself to turn to Porthos. He grinned cheekily. "Well, hello."

"If you say anything about recruit days, I will kill you," Porthos growled as Aramis approached. Aramis laughed and gave his friend a sweeping glance up and down his body.

"I was going to say no such thing," he reassured him, squatting down. At this height, he was eye-level with Porthos' chest, which swelled with heavy breaths.

The air around them seemed to change. He could still hear fighting outside, could even pick Athos' and D'Artagnan's voices if he really tried, but his eyes would not move from Porthos' own. They were very wide and dark.

"Aramis," Porthos breathed.

Aramis came even closer to undo the ropes, heart pounding. He should have gone around to his back to do this, he thought, a little hysterically. Heart pounding, he wound his arms around his friend to reach the ropes. Their faces were very close. He hoped his shaking was not noticeable.

"Aramis," Porthos repeated, sounding strangled, and suddenly, his friends' words came to his ears, clear as bells, the obvious honesty in them like a punch to his sternum.

Swallowing, Aramis undid the knot at last, but did not push the ropes off Porthos, testing. His hand reached out of its own accord and touched Porthos stubbled cheek, thumb sweeping over the bruise. "Porthos."

He should move away. He should let Porthos untangle himself and get up so they can join the fighting again and go home, but he was frozen, muscles locked in place under the heat of Porthos' gaze.

"Porthos," he repeated reverently. It tumbled out of his mouth like a prayer, almost, like his salvation was on the other side of Porthos' gaze, or maybe inside of those eyes, always warm and understanding, or in those arms, on those shoulders, that had supported him and saved his life more than any other person in his life. More than a love lost so long ago, when he was a young boy, more than Anne, who birthed a Prince, soon a King, with his blood in his veins. His thumb swept down again, precariously close to Porthos' mouth, which parted slightly. 

And then Porthos was kissing him.

Aramis inhaled through his nose sharply, his other hand coming up to take hold of the curls at Porthos' nape. He deepened the kiss with no hesitation, and Porthos responded accordingly with a groan that set every last inch of Aramis' body on fire. They fit together like they had been doing this for years, as easy as breathing.

They broke apart after what seemed like hours. Aramis was panting like he had run all over France. "We should...probably...join...the fighting."

"You should probably let me go first then," Porthos retorted. The effect was ruined by how breathless he sounded, voice rough. Aramis shivered, the heat in his body gathering lower.

"I don't want to," he admitted. Porthos grinned, half-teasing, half-awfully fond. He nosed at Aramis' jaw.

"We'll do this again," he promised, voice a hot whisper in Aramis' ear "on an actual bed, and maybe you in my position."

Aramis couldn't help but laugh. He stepped back with some difficulty and straightened up. Porthos shrugged off the ropes and retrieved his weapons from where they had been carelessly tossed into the corner of the room before he raised his eyebrows at Aramis.

"Something funny?"

"Constance and Athos were right. You definitely like the idea of ropes."

Porthos' cheeks darkened. "Traitors," he hissed. Aramis smiled.

"We can have our revenge tomorrow and then onwards forever. Right now we need to get this over with so we can go home and you can fuck me senseless."

He earned a wide-eyed stare and then a grin full of joy and promise that was practically blinding in its intensity. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

 

"I quit the Regiment," D'Artagnan hissed. "I'm going to seek refuge in another country and Constance and I will grow old in a cave."

Athos did not even spare a glance at him, eyes trained on two recruits locked in hand-to-hand combat. "They're at it again, then?"

"I caught them on my bed, Athos," his friend whined, sounding much like the horses behind them, actually. "On my  _bed_. Constance is going to kill me."

"Your fault," Athos reminded him. "You told her you can handle them."

"I can't," D'Artagnan moaned in despair. "How did they even get in my house? Can you arrest them?"

Athos snorted. "I wish I could, but we are at fault here. We pushed them together quite enthusiastically."

D'Artagnan sighed. "I wish I could honestly say I regret it."

"As do I," Athos said wryly as he spotted two familiar forms making their way over to them.

"Gentlemen," Aramis smiled at them in greeting, practically glowing from happiness. He was so in love it was sickening. "How are you doing on this fine day?"

D'Artagnan bristled like a particularly murderous porcupine. "I despise you both," he declared, and left, likely in search of Constance.

Porthos and Aramis grinned at his back, Porthos' arm slung around his shoulders. It was a familiar picture from years of friendship, but the Regiment now knew it meant something more. Most of the recruits and seasoned Musketeers had been under the impression Porthos and Aramis were already lovers, so their fellow brothers had taken it in stride when news eventually spread. Athos still had, however, threatened them all, with Treville's blessing, that if this reached anyone's ears outside the Regiment they could kiss their commission and limbs goodbye.

"Why do you bait him so?," Athos asked lazily as the couple settled beside him. "He was all in favour of you two."

They both shrugged in eerie unison.

"If you're even thinking of doing it in my rooms or office, I will kill you and string you up by your cocks," he promised flatly. 

There was silence for a moment, and then Aramis and Porthos burst out laughing. Athos remained largely unmoved, save for a subtle twitch of his lips.

"I expected something like this sooner or later," Aramis said once his laughter had subsided, leaning against Porthos. "I do love you, my friend."

"You're still not fucking on my desk," Athos said. Porthos grinned deviously.

"Who says we haven't?"

The look on Athos' face could make recruits cry. As it was, Porthos and Aramis exchanged a wide-eyed look and got up quickly. "We're going now," Aramis said.

"To our own rooms," Porthos added.

"Indeed," Aramis said, walking backwards and out of choking range. "See you later."

"Sorry for the mess on your chair," Porthos said, and then they were hurrying away, giggling like schoolboys.

Athos cursed colourfully, and sent one of the newer recruits to examine his office for any signs of disturbance.

He should have never gotten involved in their affairs. Anne would never let him leave this down when she got wind of it , he was certain.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback/kudos are always appreciated! You can leave prompts (for this fandom or something else I have written) in the comments or contact me on twitter @ andrvmaches! xoxoxo


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